I skimmed the lyrics for the song I’d just composed. Not a song—a ballad. Written about a woman I’d spent less than ten minutes with. And not just any woman. Taryn Ayers.

Out of the corner of my eye, my laptop called to me. Reluctantly, I answered, hauling the device onto my lap. I stared at the Google search box with Taryn’s name, and in a moment of weakness, I hit enter.

A neat row of Taryn’s pictures populated the screen. Foregoing the gallery, I opened her wiki page. Easing back against the cushions, I scrolled through the article, astonished at her accomplishments. When I got to the bottom of the page, my fingers hovered over the touch pad.

“Damaged Accident and Aftermath.”

Blowing past the photos of the wreckage from the crash, I went straight to the aftermath.

Clicking the first link, a photo of Taryn and Beckett Brennin on the roof of Breckenridge hospital with the Care Flight helicopter in the background appeared. It was like peering in on the worst day of someone’s life, frame by frame. Brennin looked shocked. But Taryn? The way her legs were bent slightly and oddly angled, just a little off, it was apparent she wasn’t standing of her own volition.

How the fuck did someone have the insensitivity to take these pictures?

Disgusted, I moved onto the next photo. Taryn in a black dress at the double funeral service at St. Mary’s Cathedral. Kneeling at the altar with her small hand flat on Paige’s white casket, she gazed upward, tears streaming down her face. She looked like a shattered angel.

“Jesus …”

Unable to stomach another photo of Taryn with vacant eyes and pale skin, I skipped to the article that delved into the inquiry of the accident. The National Transportation and Safety Board found Xtreme Modifications solely at fault. But in the court of public opinion, Taryn was hung out to dry.

I did another quick search but didn’t find one statement from Taryn defending herself.

“Hey, bro,” Cameron said, as he entered the room. “I thought you’d be at the office. What are you doing here?”

I blinked at him. “Uh …”

Flopping down next to me, he leaned in to catch a peek at my screen.

“Porn?” He smirked.

Rolling my eyes, I slammed the lid shut. “I prefer my women three dimensional. And I am working. I had a crew here all day cleaning out Laurel’s new digs.”

My brother pulled a face. “You’re really going to let her live here?”

“You make it sound like she’s going to be sleeping in my bed. She’s living upstairs.”

Hopping to my feet to shake off the images of Taryn, I headed to the fridge. Pushing aside the six-pack of beer, I opted for water. At twenty-nine, with eleven years clean, I knew my kink. Drugs. Any and all. Still, when I first got out of rehab, I didn’t drink for years, and even now I didn’t drink often.

Since I wasn’t sure of what weapons Laurel used to fight the big monsters, I’d need to lock up the alcohol for the time being. Keep it out of her reach.

Reclaiming my seat, I held out a can of Dr. Pepper for Cameron. “What are you doing here so early?” I asked.

Confusion lined his brow. “It’s three o’clock. Band practice?”

Shit … I’d wasted hours writing the song and obsessing about Taryn. I was good at obsessing. Not that it hurt me any. I’d made it through Stanford in three years instead of four, and then I built The Phoenix Group from nothing to a thriving enterprise in seven.

Still, it unnerved me, the way my thoughts circled back to Taryn every few moments. Like she was a drug and I couldn’t wait to get a fix.

I roughed a hand through my hair. “Yeah…I guess I lost track of time. Where’s the rest of the crew?”

“Christian’s running late. And Sean had to pick up Willow from speech class or something. He’ll be here any minute.” Shifting in his seat, Cameron peered at his phone. “I saw Logan unloading all the shit he bought for Laurel.”

Noting the concern darkening my brother’s hazel eyes, I sat forward. “What kind of stuff?”

He glanced at my wall of electronics. “The kind that are easily pawned. Xbox. Flat screen. Stuff like that.”

Cameron had seen me at my worst, when I was willing to sell the coat off my back, or his, for a fix. My brother was as easy going as they came, trusting to a fault, but not when it came to this one thing.

I took a sip of water to wash away the sour taste of guilt. “Keep your views to yourself until there’s something to worry about,” I warned. “I’ve already talked to Logan. Don’t get between him and Laurel. I’ll handle it.”

Cameron pressed his lips into a firm line when Logan exited the freight elevator, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s fucking boiling out there.” Looking between Cam and me, he narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” I replied. “Where’s Laurel?”

“Upstairs trying to figure out her new TV.”

I scowled when Logan plopped onto the white sofa with his dusty jeans and dirty hands. Unfazed, he snatched my water bottle from the table and downed half the contents before offering it back to me with a smug smile.

“Dude, I have no idea where that mouth has been.”

Grinning wider, he waggled his brows. “Well … if you really want to know … there was this Betty I met last night at the—”

“Spare me,” I grumbled, my focus on the notepad of unfinished lyrics. “I meant to ask, are y’all making any headway getting your audition with Twin Souls?”

Totally self-serving dick move, and I was all about it. Which was a little concerning since blatant manipulation was something I’d left behind a long time ago.

Logan’s face fell. “Hell, no. You remember when I told you about that memorial concert, the one that Twin Souls is planning for the fifth anniversary of the … um … thing?” When I nodded, he continued, “Well, Sean read an article in the paper yesterday, and it’s definitely on. I guess Taryn is focusing all her energy on that.”

A prickle of awareness danced over my skin. “Taryn? I thought you were trying to get a meeting with Tori.”

Cameron snorted a laugh. “Seems Tori doesn’t handle the talent. Logan over here has been working the wrong partner.”

Logan lobbed his empty bottle at Cameron’s head, and when my brother threatened to respond by dousing his friend with Dr. Pepper, I didn’t even flinch. I was too busy thinking about what “working” Taryn entailed.

Ambling to the kitchen, I opened the fridge. My hand hovered over the water, but the beer beckoned, so I grabbed a bottle. Loitering near the island, I took a long swig and then asked Logan, “Have you talked to Taryn?”

Invited her out for a date? Dinner and a night of sweaty sex?

Who was I kidding? This was Logan. Dinner was a stretch.

He shrugged noncommittally. “Not yet.”

Since I was only half listening when Logan told me about the concert, I scratched my head. “Where exactly is the show taking place?”

“Zilker Park, if you believe the rumor mill. So it won’t be any time in the next few months. Not with Austin City Limits in September.”

Months …

If I planned it right, I could scratch the itch with Taryn and be nothing but a memory in “months.” It’s not like I ever got involved with the band’s management. Cameron understood my reasons for never mixing with the music industry folks. The pain it caused. And the risks.

Christian walked into the room, Sean a step behind. With a smile, I grabbed a Starburst from the table and wandered over to Willow, curled in her daddy’s arms. Pressing the candy into her tiny hand, I earned a giggle from the little princess and a glare from her father.

My brother hopped to his feet and stretched. “Want to go jam with us, bro?”

I patted Cameron on the back before taking a seat on the couch. “You go ahead. I wouldn’t want to show you up.”

The guys crowed, but Cam merely shrugged and headed for the stairs.

Grabbing my laptop, I waited until I heard the faint footsteps two levels above before opening the lid. I chided myself for my itchy fingers as I clicked on another photo of Taryn.

Sad blue eyes filled the screen. And those lips, struggling to maintain a fake smile. A lyric popped into my head, so I paused to jot it down.

You wear the summer in soft blue eyes. A bittersweet sky, tainted with lies. Let me end your season of pain. Dry the tears that fall like rain.

Satisfied with the sappy sentiment, I closed my browser.

Taryn would be here in three hours. Anxiety and excitement warred at the prospect of seeing her. Sucking down the rest of the beer, I forced all thoughts of her to the back of my head and answered some emails.